By Gaslight
by Jak Pickens
Summary: Follows a young Bruce Wayne in the late nineteenth century, as he attempts to hunt down his parent's murderer, a serial killer commonly known as the Joker, all the while the Joker embarks on a project of his own: creating a monster the likes of which Gotham had never seen before. (Set in Gotham by Gaslight Elseworld) (AU) ABANDONED
1. Pilot: By Gaslight

**A/N: So, the other day I came across a particular fanart drawn by deviant artist, maryfgr23, that depicted what the Gothamverse Bruce and Selina would look like if thrown into the Gotham by Gaslight Elseworld storyline (aka Earth 19).**

 **Gotham by Gaslight is essentially a 'what would happen' story in which all the characters of Batman are thrown into the Victorian Era, with the main villain being Jack the Ripper. Anyways, I wrote a two-part pilot based off of it. Let me know what you think. Hope you enjoy!**

 **Pilot: By Gaslight**

Unsettling smog settled over Gotham City.

Something was wrong; you could feel it in the air.

However, until the next morning, few Gothamites would know the details of the tragedy which had occurred that very night, although the child's scream set all within earshot on edge.

A family had been walking down an alley towards their flat in the city.

Bruce Wayne's parents, Thomas and Martha Wayne, had taken him to the circus that'd come through town like it always did around his birthday.

They'd entered the alleyway laughing. His father did a goofy impression of one of the clowns, earning a joyous cackle from his only son.

"So, how was it, dear?" Bruce's mother asked the boy.

"It was excellent," Bruce responded. "I enjoyed the trapeze artists, especially."

"Yes, they were most extraordinary, if not a bit dangerous," his father added.

"Evenin' folks," a voice down the alley interjected.

A masked figure stepped out into their path from practically nowhere. He pulled a gun out from his cloak and aimed it at them, saying, "Those are some nice pearls you got there, Miss." The alleyway was dark but Bruce could've sworn he saw smile lines scrunch up around the man's eyes. "Hand it over," he lulled.

Thomas had stepped out in front of his wife and child, shielding them with his body. He held his hands in the air and told their adversary, "Not a problem. Martha, hand me your necklace, will you darling?"

Bruce's mother's hands were shaking furiously as she went to undo the clasp of her priceless family heirloom. She almost got if off cleanly, but one of the strands broke and pearls went rolling and bouncing all over the brick road.

Thomas took the remainder of the necklace and slowly handed it to the thief, showing no form of threat to the man with the gun.

Their attacker chuckled, saying, "Thank you, and for the record, this isn't personal. It's just business."

Bruce heard the gunshot ring out, the sharp sound echoing between the walls of the tightly packed buildings.

He watched in shock as a ripple traveled through his father's body and he dropped to the floor, a dark crimson spot developing on his shirt.

Bruce heard his mother gasp. She grabbed him and shielded him with her body as a second shot rang out in the alleyway.

Bruce felt his mother go still and drop to the ground, a similar crimson stain forming on her lower back.

Petrified, Bruce simply stood there as his attacker pointed the gun in his face. Bruce thought that that was going to be the last thing he ever saw, a masked man holding him at gunpoint, standing over the lifeless bodies of his parents.

The man let out a sinister laugh, saying, "Good for you, kid. Takin' it like a champ."

He pulled the trigger.

* * *

"Bloody hell, boy," Alfred scolded. "If you wanna work here you'd better clean the pints right, eh?"

Bruce huffed. "But I did clean them."

Alfred grabbed him by the scruff of his neck, forcing him to look at the inside of the cup. "This look clean to you, boy?" he asked. Bruce didn't respond, and Alfred squeezed down on his neck. "Well do it?"

Bruce shook his head. "No, I missed a spot."

"Bloody right, you did. Lucky I don't pitch you out like the last one of you lot who worked 'ere," Alfred told him. He let go of the boy's neck and commanded, "Now get back to cleaning the pints. The coal miners'll be comin' in soon."

Bruce rubbed his neck and threw a dirty look at the man's back.

Alfred Pennyworth ran an old-timey English pub in the Narrows called The Admiral's Crown, which always drew a consistent crowd of both workers and lowlifes in the afternoons and evenings.

He would hire teens from the streets to bartend or clean or do whatever else he could think of.

Granted, he was rough and a bit rude with the street kids, but he offered them a place to stay and an income, which was a better opportunity than most of them would ever get somewhere else.

Bruce had only been working there a couple of days, and he already resented the man. However, he also knew that this was his best chance at a normal life, so he kept his mouth shut and went back to work.

Other than the income and a place to sleep, The Admiral's Crown was an incredible opportunity for Bruce.

It'd been two years since his parent's murders, and the police department had all but forgotten the case's existence. With no witnesses and little evidence to work with, the case had simply run cold.

But Bruce hadn't forgotten.

He'd been investigating privately for over a year and a half, and had learned a lot about the Gotham Criminal Underworld from his research.

He'd figured out that people tended to speak freely in bars, and they spoke of things that they typically wouldn't when sober. Bruce had learned a lot from the ramblings of half-knackered police officers or crooks who'd came into the pub.

Speaking of crooks, Don Carmine Falcone himself walked into The Admiral's Crown, flanked by several other well dressed men.

While Alfred rushed up to seat him and his entourage personally, Bruce calmly and coolly made his way over to clean off a table opposite to the infamous crime boss, just within earshot.

Alfred brought back a round of drinks and Falcone said, "Thank you, old friend. I've missed this place."

Alfred nodded. "Thank you, Don Falcone. If there is anything you need, please let me know. "

He walked off and Falcone started talking to the other two men at the table, saying, "I've missed Gotham."

One of the other two men, a bit taller and stronger looking than his counterpart, told Falcone, "And Gotham has missed you, ever since you left…"

An awkward silence fell between the two men.

Falcone cleared his throat and asked, "Mr. Sionis, is there something you'd like to ask me?"

The tall man nodded and opened his mouth to speak, but the shorter of the two answered for him.

He had walked into the pub with a funny gait and he spoke in an odd eastern European accent. "Don Falcone, Mr. Sionis and I were wondering if it was true that you had the Waynes killed…and that was why you left Gotham two years ago."

Bruce froze.

He'd heard that rumor, too, but he hadn't believed it. Even so, everything seemed to fit into place. The timing of him leaving, the motive he would've had to kill his parents, since they were such influential people, it all pointed towards the same conclusion.

However, Bruce remained in control and listened for the Don's answer.

Falcone sighed. "Mr. Cobblepot, you really mustn't believe rumors. I left Gotham after the Wayne murders out of fear for my own life."

Apparently that wasn't the answer Cobblepot or Sionis were expecting, as neither responded for a few seconds.

"So…you didn't order the hit on the Waynes?" Sionis asked.

"No, Richard, I did not have the Waynes killed."

Cobblepot was at a loss for words. "Well then…who did?" he asked his boss.

Falcone shook his head. "I wish I knew. I'd put that son of a bitch's head in a vice and squeeze him till his eyes pop out. Thomas was a good friend to me." He hummed. "I wonder what happened to the boy…what was his name?"

"Bruce Wayne," Cobblepot answered.

"Right, him. Well, word was that he saw the whole thing and then disappeared soon after. I couldn't imagine watching my mother die in front of me, eh Oswald?" Falcone asked pointedly.

Bruce saw the short man's jaw clench. "No, I couldn't imagine such a thing," Cobblepot responded icily. Bruce saw his hand start to drift towards a knife on the table, but he balled it up, as if forcing himself to not take it and stab the Don.

Clearly, there was another factor at play between the two.

Falcone nodded. "Anyhow, I've certainly missed Gotham. But, onto business: how has Loeb been doing in my absence?"

Sionis shrugged. "He's done well enough, but…" he trailed off.

"But?" Falcone asked, setting his drink down and folding his hands expectantly.

"Well, there's a new detective in the GCPD that has been causing trouble recently," Sionis told him.

"Ah, well we can't be having that, now can we?" Falcone asked. "Zsasz, put out a hit on the detective," he said to one of the guards. "Let people know I'm back in town and that order _will_ be restored."

"Don Falcone," Cobblepot began shakily, "forgive me, but I fear you may not want to do that."

"And why not, my dear Penguin?" he asked.

Cobblepot visibly winced at the name, but continued, "Well, the detective in question's name is James Gordon."

Falcone raised his brow in surprise. "As in the son of the old District Attorney, Peter Gordon?" he asked. The short man nodded and Falcone said, "As usual, you're right, my friend. Zsasz, hold off on that hit."

The completely bald man nodded. "Yes sir…" he trailed off.

Bruce felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. He realized he'd been standing completely still at the table he'd been 'cleaning off' for far too long.

He started to walk away, but a firm hand was set on his shoulder. Bruce turned and saw Zsasz smiling down at him. "Hey, kid," he lulled.

The three men at the table looked up at Bruce.

"Don Falcone, I think we've got a rat from Maroni on our hands. Want me to exterminate him?" Zsasz asked, taking a firm hold on Bruce's collar.

"No, I'm not," Bruce argued. "I don't work for Maroni, I swear it on…"

"Quiet!" Zsasz commanded.

The Admiral's Crown had gone eerily silent, and all eyes were on them.

Falcone looked Bruce up and down, before calmly and simply asking him, "What is your name, son?"

He gulped. "I'm Bruce," he answered.

"Your _full_ name, please," Falcone requested.

Bruce clenched his jaw in defiance. Ever since he'd gotten away from the police who'd showed up at the crime scene, he hadn't told a soul his full name.

Bruce Wayne was as good as dead.

No one seemed to care either. Since he'd been the only heir to the Wayne family fortune, a lot of the money had been stolen by the mayor's office and other city officials as no one defended the money of the dead.

Zsasz punched Bruce hard in his side, saying through gritted teeth, "When Don Falcone asks you a question, you answer, ya little piece of…"

 _Ah, what the hell?_ Bruce thought.

"I'm Bruce Wayne," he finally blurted out.

Had he not been so scared, he probably would've laughed at the look on Cobblepot's face.

Even Falcone seemed surprised. He had Zsasz bring Bruce closer to him and after taking a good long look, Bruce saw recognition flash in his eyes. "Yes you are." He smiled to himself. "Cobblepot, grab a chair for young Mr. Wayne here," he ordered.

Eventually Penguin overcame his surprise and did as he was told, although with an obvious attitude at being forced to tend to a fourteen year old.

Bruce tentatively sat down like he was told to. Falcone smiled at him and asked, "So, Mr. Wayne, where have you been?" Bruce shrugged in response and Falcone nodded. "Fair answer. I'm guessing that you overheard our conversation about your parents?" he asked.

"Yes, I did," Bruce answered.

Falcone nodded. He looked up at Sionis and Cobblepot and asked, "Why are you two still here?"

The two immediately stood up and walked away, although Penguin threw a dirty glare at Bruce as he shut the door of The Admiral's Crown.

Falcone nodded to his guards, saying, "I don't think there'll be a problem."

Zsasz and his team left Bruce and Falcone alone at the table.

Bruce cleared his throat and started, "I have some questions for you, sir…"

"I'm sure you do," Falcone agreed.

Suddenly, no longer surrounded by his entourage, Falcone seemed less like an infamous mob boss and more like a tired old man.

"Bruce, your father and I were not only friends, we were partners," Falcone told him. He picked up a bottle of salt and a bottle of pepper and put them side by side, saying, "You see, Gotham has always been supported by two pillars: the pillar of light," he held up the salt, "and the pillar of darkness." He held up the pepper for Bruce to see and continued, "In recent times, and as you can probably guess, I was the pillar of darkness…"

"And my father was the pillar of light," Bruce finished.

Falcone nodded. "We were two sides of the same coin and all we wanted was the best for Gotham. Then, one morning, I heard the news. With the pillar of light gone," he removed the salt from the table and continued, "All that was left was the darkness. So I left, fearing that if I didn't, Gotham would fall apart and be overrun by crime. That is why I left." He sighed. "Bruce, I loved your father like a brother, and I'm sorry that your empire has been reduced to this," he gestured to the pub and Bruce's ratty clothes. "If you'd like, I'd be happy to help you recover what is rightfully yours…"

"Thank you, Don Falcone," Bruce interrupted, "but I'm not interested in money."

Falcone raised an eyebrow. "Well then, what are you interested in?"

Bruce looked at Falcone quizzically. He decided to be honest and answered, "I want to find my parent's killer. I want to make him pay for what he did."

Falcone dropped his gaze to the table. "Bruce, I need to tell you something that you can _never_ repeat again for the rest of your life. I lied. I know who killed your parents, or at least, I know of him."

Bruce's jaw dropped. "Who?"

Falcone pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head. "A dangerous man, Bruce. I deal with dangerous men for a living, but him…he's something else. He's something worse than a man. He appears, kills, and disappears into thin air."

"What is his name?" Bruce asked.

Falcone sighed. "No one knows who he really is, but he goes by an alias. The few survivors said he had a psychotic laugh, and one man who'd seen his face said he had a blood red lips and deformed smile. People call him the Joker."

The name passed through the room like a wave of cold.

"The Joker?" Bruce asked. He stood from the table and told Falcone, "Thank you for your help," before abruptly turning on his heel and walking towards the back.

Falcone called for him to come back, that it all was too dangerous, that this business was no place for a child, but Bruce was already out the back door of the pub and onto the streets of Gotham.

He scaled the side of a brick building and found his way onto the rooftops where he sat and thought over the new information he'd received. "So, the Joker, huh?" he asked aloud.

 **A/N: Sorry for the abrupt end, but I realized that the Pilot was gonna be too long if I kept it as one chapter, so I'm going to split it into two parts. The second chapter should come out very soon after this one, so stick around. If you enjoyed or have any questions about this story/Elseworld timeline, make sure to review. Thanks for reading!**

 **(PS. If the creator of the fanart has written a series based off of these characters, please let me know. I looked all over fanfiction and found nothing, so I don't believe that that is the case, but I might've missed something. I don't want to steal her work. Thanks)**


	2. Pilot: Selina Kyle

**A/N: Side note: I'm starting off this series as Rated T, but I may have to bump that up to Rated M later on. I don't think that'll be the case, and I try to only post Rated T content, but if you find that my story suddenly isn't on the opening Rated K to T page of the Gotham stories, check the Rated M section, because it might be there.**

 **Anyways, here's the second half of the Pilot!**

 **Pilot: Selina Kyle**

 **Two Weeks Later**

Bruce walked up to the GCPD.

The brick and steel building had been constructed in the wake of his parent's death, and had been dedicated to them by the Wayne Foundation.

Bruce had to fight the urge to spit on the threshold.

Although many of the GCPD officers had good intent, the majority were crooked old men who had their hands in the pockets of corrupt politicians and criminals.

They'd defiled the once beautiful building.

However, there was one cop Bruce knew of who was truly a good man at heart, even if his actions didn't always show it.

"Detective Gordon?" Bruce called into the room. Over the noise and constant bustle of the police station, one familiar man heard his name called and looked up from his desk.

Bruce saw both shock and recognition flash in the man's eyes. Gordon asked, "Bruce Wayne?"

"Want to say my name any louder? Someone may not have heard you," Bruce whispered harshly.

"What are you doing here?" Jim asked. "Everyone thought you were dead…"

"Well I'm not," Bruce responded curtly. "Can we go somewhere less public to talk?"

Jim glanced around. Seeing that his partner, Harvey Bullock, wasn't there, he nodded towards the Captain's office.

Bruce shut the doors behind them and Jim asked, "Where the hell have you been?"

Bruce shrugged. "Around. I need to ask you a favor."

"Whoa there," Jim said. "You ran away from my crime scene and then disappeared for two years; I ask the questions."

"Fine," Bruce huffed, throwing himself down onto one of the chairs and kicking his feet up onto the Captain's desk. "What do you want to know?"

"Well, for starters, where have you been, and don't even think about saying 'around'."

"I've been in Gotham," Bruce answered truthfully. "Found some people in the Narrows who took me in, taught me the ways of surviving on the streets, all of that."

"So, you've been in Gotham this whole time…" Jim repeated in awe. "We'd thought you'd been kidnapped or ran off to another city."

"Well, I'm here. Anything else you want to know?" Bruce asked impatiently.

"Why did you run?" Jim asked.

"I was scared," Bruce answered flatly. His answer was partially true. "The Joker had just shot my parents and he was gonna kill me had his gun not jammed…"

Jim's face went ghostly white. "Joker…how do you know that name?" Jim demanded.

Bruce smirked. "That's actually what I'm here to talk to you about. Jim, I recently had a talk with Don Carmine Falcone, and he told me that the man who killed my parents was a professional. He said the man goes by Joker? Clearly you know of him."

Jim nodded. "He was my first suspect, but since there were no witnesses," he looked pointedly at Bruce, "I had to drop the case."

"Right, well, I was wondering if you still had the case files," Bruce told him.

A concerned look passed over the detective's face. "Yes…why?"

"Can I see them?" Bruce asked. "I figured, since you can't continue the investigation, I'd look into it myself."

Jim's shook his head. "Bruce, you don't know what you're talking about," he told the boy.

Bruce nodded. "You're probably right, but what do I have to lose?" he asked.

"Your life," Jim told him.

Bruce chuckled darkly. "Tell me: would you be this concerned over any other street kid?"

Jim clenched his jaw defiantly. "Fair point, but I'm not giving you the files, Bruce. Besides, they're locked away in Cold Cases, so I couldn't get them even if I wanted to."

Bruce sighed. "Fine. You're probably right, anyways. See ya around Detective Gordon," he said, standing up quickly and walking out of the room.

The boy's sudden change of heart took Gordon by surprise. It took him a couple seconds to collect himself and realize that his only witness was escaping again.

He ran out of the Captain's office, shouting, "Stop him!" but he only received odd looks from the fellow officers.

His partner, who was now sitting in the bull pen with a sandwich in front of him, asked Jim, "Stop who?"

Jim looked around the room, but found no sign of Bruce Wayne. "Dammit," he cursed.

* * *

Bruce dropped down from the rafters above the Captain's office.

He paused and listened for any reaction to his movement, but none came.

It was around three in the morning, and the few officers who were still in the precinct were either asleep or too tired to notice the boy's presence.

Near silently, he crept down the stairs and around a corner towards the Records Annex.

He arrived at the door and pulled out the ring of keys that he'd stolen from the Captain's office earlier that afternoon.

The lock finally clicked open, and he silently entered the room, shutting the door behind himself.

Bruce had to move quickly, and he started scanning the labels on the filing cabinets. Finally, he came across one that read, **Cold Cases**. He took out a ring of little, metal wires from his jacket and went to work, undoing the lock in mere seconds.

Lock-picking had been one of the first things he'd learned while living on the streets, along with climbing and pick pocketing.

All the essential skills of your everyday street kid.

He opened the cabinet and scanned through the files. He spotted one labeled, **T. Wayne/M. Wayne** , and pulled it out.

Bruce shut the cabinet and walked towards the door, but the label on another cabinet caught his eye.

It read, **Unidentified Criminals**.

Curiosity got the better of him and he opened that cabinet as well.

No joke: the very first file read **The Joker** , in bold print.

The file wasn't very large. It only contained a couple papers and a rough sketch of what someone said he looked like, but it was more than Bruce currently had, so he took it.

Bruce exited the room and locked it behind himself.

As quietly as possible, Bruce crept up to the doors of the Captain's office and slid the ring of keys under them.

He exited out the back door, and it wouldn't be until the next morning that someone realized that something was off.

* * *

Captain Essen called out to the bullpen, "Jim, do you know why my keys are on the floor?"

Gordon turned back to her with a confused look on his face. "Keys?"

Suddenly, realization struck.

Gordon rushed towards the Records Annex, nearly scaring poor Kristen Kringle to death. "I need to see something in Cold Cases," he demanded.

"O-okay?" Miss Kringle replied, opening the cabinet for him.

Jim went through every file twice before swearing, "Dammit…can you open Unidentified Criminals?"

She complied. Jim looked inside the cabinet and saw that the first file, the one he was most familiar with, was missing.

* * *

Bruce had spread out new the papers on the Joker and his parents on the floor. He hadn't gone back to The Admiral's Crown since he'd met with Falcone, so his flat above the pub was as good as gone.

However, he had lived in Gotham for nearly two years without Alfred's charity, and he knew of several places he could go for a couple days.

He'd known of a wealthy family that always went on a long trip abroad on his birthday. Bruce had known their son, Thomas Elliot, from grade school.

He looked over all the files and papers, trying to connect his parent's killing to the known whereabouts of the Joker.

Bruce noticed a pattern in the Joker's travels.

He'd start on the northeast coast of the United States, go down to Gotham, Metropolis, start to go west and hit Central City in Illinois, then a couple other Midwestern towns, then he'd arrive at the west coast, hit Starling City in Washington, then Coast City in California. He'd circle back around the south of the US, traveling east, and then arrive back on the southern east coast.

He'd done this cycle three times.

On his list of suspected killings, the Wayne Murders popped up around February 19th, Bruce's birthday…

The answer hit him square in the face.

Bruce rushed to the window which overlooked Gotham's Pier 13.

Sure enough, a huge, red and white tent was being pitched, and railroad cars were lined up around it.

Bruce sunk down on the bed.

It was suddenly so obvious.

From the Joker's crazy laugh to someone claiming he was wearing makeup, it all made sense now.

He was a clown in the traveling circus.

* * *

It was the next morning and Bruce was already waiting outside the entrance to the tent. The main circus would open the next day, although some of the side shows were already performing for any passersby.

Bruce spotted the man he'd been looking for.

The ringmaster made his way up to the tent and finally noticed Bruce.

He raised an eyebrow in curiosity and asked, "What are you doing here? Circus doesn't open until tomorrow."

Bruce nodded. "I know. I'm not here for the show. I'm here to talk to you, actually."

The ringmaster looked at him skeptically. "If you're looking for a job, we don't have any openings…"

"No, I'm not here for a job. I'm here to ask you about one of your performers," Bruce told him.

The ringmaster suddenly looked a bit nervous. He nodded towards the tent, signaling for Bruce to enter.

The grand tent was just like Bruce remembered from two years prior. The trapeze artists were rehearsing the ringmaster had Bruce wait for them to stop.

Finally, when they finished their routine, the ringmaster called up to them, "Grayson's! Take five, will ya?"

They all climbed down, leaving Bruce and the ringmaster alone in the big top.

As soon as they were gone, the ringmaster's fake smile disappeared. "Who are you?" he asked.

"I'm Bruce Wayne, sir," Bruce answered truthfully.

The ringmaster flushed, but he played dumb, asking, "And why are you here, Bruce?"

"I think there's a serial killer in your midst," Bruce responded bluntly.

The ringmaster laughed out loud, taking Bruce by surprise. He eventually calmed down enough to sarcastically ask Bruce, "Really? You think so? Was it the fact that the Joker had been spotted wherever we go, or that he just looked and sounded like a clown?"

"Y-you knew?" Bruce asked.

The ringmaster nodded. He chuckled bitterly, saying, "Yes, I knew there was a killer in our midst. Believe me, I didn't like it either, sleeping in the same train as a psychopath."

"So…do you know who it is?" Bruce asked.

The ringmaster shrugged. "I had my suspicions," he said, emphasizing the past tense.

" _Had_?" Bruce asked.

"Yes, had." He stood up from the bench, saying, "I wouldn't worry yourself about the Joker anymore. He's been…taken care of," the ringmaster told him darkly.

Bruce's face fell, but before he could ask another question, a set of footsteps approached from one of the tunnels.

Actually, it was two sets. One pair was of light, human-sounding footsteps, and the other was of heavier ones, however the latter didn't sound entirely human.

Bruce lurched back in his seat as a tiger strolled into the ring.

The ringmaster looked up and smiled, saying, "Ah, here comes our resident cat expert."

A girl around Bruce's age emerged from the tunnel.

He felt his pulse start to quicken.

The ringmaster looked over at Bruce and asked, "Would you like me to introduce you?"

Bruce nodded curtly.

They stood up and the ringmaster announced, "Hello, Miss Kyle."

She looked up at him and nodded. However, her eyes were instantly drawn to the cute boy standing next to her boss.

Both of the teens stood in a moment of awkward silence before the ringmaster told the girl, "Selina, this is..."

"Bruce Wayne," Bruce finished for him. He stuck out his hand and the girl took it.

"Selina Kyle," she introduced herself. "People call me Cat."

Bruce smirked. "Nice to meet you, Cat."

She looked at him quizzically and asked, "So, what brings you 'round here?"

The ringmaster answered, "He was asking questions about our 'little laughing problem'."

She nodded, not appearing fazed whatsoever by the ringmaster's reference.

"Well, I have some business to attend to," the ringmaster told them, sensing his presence was no longer required, or wanted, by the teens. "It was a pleasure, Mr. Wayne," he told Bruce. He nodded to Selina, "Miss Kyle," and then turned and marched out of the ring, leaving them alone.

Selina's tiger came around behind Bruce and nuzzled up against his leg.

The girl chuckled. "She likes you," she told him. "Weird, she never tends to like anyone."

Bruce nodded. "What's her name?" he asked.

"Sheeba," Selina replied simply.

Bruce raised his head from the tiger and finally got a good look at the girl.

She had short, curly, chestnut hair with piercing blue-green eyes. It was an odd contrast of colors, but the girl seemed to pull it off quite effortlessly. She was wearing a dark robe over her other clothes, but when she'd walked forwards to meet them, Bruce had unintentionally noticed that her right leg was mostly bare.

Unbeknownst to Bruce, Selina had been studying him, as well. His wild black hair was mostly covered by a grey newsboy cap, and his clothes, although they weren't filthy, had obviously been worn for quite some time. His eyes were what caught her attention though. They were dark, but they had this fiery passion in them which practically drew her in. But there was something else behind them, too. An underlying sorrow…

The tiger made an odd coughing noise in its throat.

The sound brought the pair of teens back to reality, and they both blushed, realizing they'd been silently staring at one another.

Bruce grinned weakly and asked, "So, what do you do?"

She nodded to the tiger and said, "I do a show with the big cats. Sheeba's the main attraction, but there are a couple others."

"She seems tame," Bruce told her.

The tiger growled on cue, as if she was asking, "Oh yeah? Try something and find out."

Bruce took a step backwards, making Selina laugh. "No, she isn't tame. In fact, I'm surprised she hasn't torn you to pieces already."

"She must have good taste," Bruce claimed with a sarcastic smirk.

"Don't push it," Selina warned. They chuckled a bit, but the joy was quickly replaced by silence, once again. "So…where're you from?"

"I live around here," he replied curtly, not giving Selina much to work with.

"And why are you here again?" Selina asked.

"I was investigating the Joker," Bruce told her.

"Investigating?" she asked with a cynical look on her face. "What are you, some kinda detective?" Bruce shook his head. "Well then, why are you investigating _him_?"

"He killed by parents," Bruce responded quietly. Selina's judgmental look faded quickly. That explained the sorrow in his eyes. He had seen something he shouldn't have had to see. Bruce continued, "And he would've killed me, too."

She nodded, now feeling bad for teasing the boy. "I'm sorry," she told him.

He shook his head. "It's fine, you didn't know." There was another pause. "I should get going," Bruce told her. He grinned weakly at her and said, "It was nice meeting you, Cat."

He was almost at the tent flap when Selina called to him, "Wait!" She grabbed his arm and pulled him away from the exit. Selina looked around suspiciously and, seeing no one else around, told him in a hushed voice, "Look, the Joker is dangerous, and if you know what's good for you, you'll stop looking into this."

Bruce tilted his head in confusion. "I thought the ringmaster said that they'd killed him…"

"He lied," Selina whispered. "Yeah, they killed a guy, but he wasn't the Joker. And they knew it, too."

Bruce shook his head. "Well…why did they kill him, then?"

"Because the Joker told them to," Selina said. "Look, the ringmaster is under the Joker's thumb, which means all of us are. Including me. So, if you know what's good for you, you'll walk away, got it?"

Bruce looked at her skeptically, but nodded. "Yeah, I got it." He started towards the exit again, but stalled. "Thank you, Selina," he said, taking her hand and lightly kissing the top of it.

Selina watched him go and audibly sighed as the tent flaps closed behind him.

However, she got the feeling that that wouldn't be the last time she saw Bruce Wayne.

* * *

Later that evening, Selina had been feeding the big cats, calling each one by name as she threw big hunks of meat into their cages.

Most of them wined as she walked away. Selina was the only one in that godforsaken place that gave a damn about their wellbeing, making her their sort-of mother.

Finally, Selina reached Sheeba's cage. She unlocked the door and walked in to hand Sheeba her dinner personally. Selina sat down next to the animal, leaning up against the cat's and milking in its body heat.

Selina shook her head. "Damn you, Cat," she cursed. Sheeba looked up from her meal and growled, as if offended. "Not you, stupid. I really screwed up today." Sheeba went back to ignoring her, but Selina continued, "He was cute, wasn't he, in his devil-may-care kinda way? Why'd I have to scare him off like that?" she asked no one in particular. "Did you see what he looked like when I asked him where he was from? My God, that was adorable." She glanced over at Sheeba and said, "I feel like you're ignoring me."

"I'm not," a voice rang out.

Selina almost jumped out of her skin.

Her eyes shot up to the opening of Sheeba's cage.

Standing there was one of her only friends in this world: Ivy Pepper.

"Dammit, Ivy!" Selina scolded, although she stood up and gave the girl a big hug. She pulled back and asked, "How are you?"

Ivy shrugged. "I'm okay, I guess. Ringmaster finally lost interest in me, and I think I might get to sleep in my own bed tonight, alone," she told Selina.

Ivy was tall, beautiful, and had turned eighteen six months earlier, which wasn't a good thing for her. Her father worked as a knife juggler, but she, herself, didn't have an act. However, the ringmaster had taken an interest in her and recently kept her around for 'entertainment'.

Selina nodded. "That's good, I guess."

"But enough about me," Ivy told her. "Are you having boy troubles?"

Selina shrugged. "Not really," she lied.

"Cat, come on. This is _literally_ the only thing I know how to help you with. Let me in."

Selina sighed and leaned against the side of the cage. "A kid came by today, around my age. He was asking questions about," Selina lowered her voice, "the Joker."

"And?" Ivy prodded her on.

"Well, we started talking. I warned him, but I don't think he's gonna listen."

"Stop right there," Ivy told her. "You're about to trail off on some serious issue that doesn't matter to try to escape this conversation." Selina shook her head. Ivy always knew how to call her bluffs. "Is he cute?" Ivy asked.

Selina scoffed at her bluntness, but nodded. "Yeah, he is."

"He must be," Ivy commented offhandedly. "It'd take a lot to throw you off this much. Maybe I should have you introduce me to him…"

Selina rolled her eyes. "Sure thing."

"You wanna know what I think?" Ivy asked, now very serious. "I think you should just wait."

"Wait for what?" Selina asked.

Ivy shook her head. "Cat, you have no idea just how beautiful you are, do you?" she asked the younger girl. "From what I heard from you tell Sheeba, this kid isn't an idiot, and if he isn't already head over heels for you, I wouldn't waste my time on him. Do you think he was interested?" she asked.

Selina shrugged. "Maybe..."

"Then, just wait. I've got a feeling he'll be back."

Selina hugged the girl again. "Thanks, Ivy."

"Any time, Cat," she responded. "Now, speaking of cute guys, the Grayson's practice is about to end and John always walks past my car, so…I gotta go."

"What happened to you sleeping alone tonight?" Selina teased as the girl walked away.

Ivy gave her a rude gesture and kept walking towards the big top.

Selina sighed.

She certainly hoped the older girl was right.

 **A/N: So that's the end of the two part pilot of By Gaslight. If you enjoyed or have any questions or critiques, please review. Also, if you guys want me to continue this series, please let me know. Thanks for reading!**

 **PS. If I do continue this series, it'll be a couple days to a week at least before chapter 3 will come out because I haven't outlined this yet. Also: this will not purely be a BrucexSelina romance series. I want to incorporate more and more characters, as well as branch out from purely doing romance stories so I can improve my chops as a writer. If you're looking for a more BrucexSelina centric story, check out some of my other stuff, too. There's a lot of it.**


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